


The Time Travel Episode

by limeta



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Ainsley Whitly is a BAMF, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, College, F/M, Humor, Inspired by Back to the Future, Jessica Whitly is a BAMF, Malcolm Bright Gets a Hug, Martin Whitly Loves Malcolm Bright, Martin is STRESSED, Student Jessica Whitly, Student Martin Whitly, They're a mess, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:22:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24111991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/limeta/pseuds/limeta
Summary: After a killer specialized in all things occult sends Ainsley and Malcolm to 1985, they must work together to go back to the future. Things take a turn for the worse when they realize that the timeline has been disrupted and their parents aren't together. Now they must make sure that Jessica Milton and Martin Whitly end up together or risk their existence being erased for good.
Relationships: Jessica Whitly/Martin Whitly
Comments: 23
Kudos: 45





	1. Chapter 1

Malcolm really thought that he’d seen everything. He’d been in the profiling business for so long, after all, and had had a father for a serial killer. So it all came as cocktail of emotions and experiences that told him he had earned the ability to not to get surprised by cases anymore.

Except. Well. That wasn’t quite true.

Their newest killer had a fascination with the occult.

As far as weird cases went Malcolm Bright had to say that detaining a killer who firmly believed that blood sacrifice to a pagan god was enough energy to open a rift in space and time had to be way up there on the list.

Ainsley was tied to a chair next to him. Her trial was soon. She'd been kidnapped and was currently thinking about her future. ''Mom called me.''

''Did she?'' Malcolm made small talk while trying to get out of his bonds. It was best to appear normal so he didn’t spook his baby sister. Not that she looked like the easily spooked type. Out of the two of them she had a bigger body count than him, after all.

The killer was having a bit of a monologue about the importance of fresh blood and runic inscriptions. It was like a scene straight out of Harry Potter. Malcolm was a fan. Ainsley thought that magic and fantasy had no room in her life. Only Star Trek.

''Mhm.'' Ainsley hummed. She, too, attempted to get out of her bonds. But while doing so she didn’t mind having a small conversation with her brother. They saw each other so rarely. She had a feeling he was avoiding her. ''She's convinced I'll get off scot free.''

''Well, her lawyers _are_ sharks.'' Malcolm wasn’t avoiding her on purpose. It was just that subconsciously he couldn’t get the image of his baby sister screaming and stabbing Nicholas Endicott. Out of guilt more than anything else he added that name on the list of names of his father’s known victims.

‘’I know they are. Mom wouldn’t be paying for them otherwise. Did you see the look on her face when she saw me?’’

Jessica had been devastated and terrified. She’d shoved all of her feelings down, however, in order to hug Ainsley and Malcolm both and tell them that they would get out of this whole.

‘’She was very worried.’’

‘’She was terrified of me.’’

‘’No, Ains, please. It isn’t like that.’’ Malcolm looked at his sister. She was looking down at her lap.

The killer was so enamoured with his own voice that he didn't pay any attention to the siblings. The book said it had to be siblings. It was a very specific book. Malcolm was morbidly curious to see it.

Ainsley was convinced it was hogwash. His sister didn't have an appreciation for anything occult. Malcolm would try anything once. Except murder. Maybe he wasn't as adventurous as he thought himself to be.

''Dad called me.''

''Oh god, don’t tell me you picked up.'' Malcolm could feel that he was just getting there. Just a little more time and he'd be free.

Ainsley nodded. She lifted her gaze and looked towards their killer. He was either attempting one of those modern dances or it was another thing that was part of the ritual. She really couldn't tell.

''What'd he want?''

''To check up on me, actually. He said that the first time he took a life it was...overwhelming.''

''Did he say when?'' Malcolm didn’t know how to feel about the fact that their serial killer father called Ainsley and talked to her. A depraved, childish part of him was even jealous. Then he only needed to remember that it was a serial killer’s attention he was jealous over and realized what a shitty thing that was.

''No.'' Ainsley said. ‘’He doesn’t like talking about that first time. Do you think it was an accident? He always switches the topic.’’

''That means he killed outside of the convicted twenty-three. I knew it. Who knows when he killed first.'' Malcolm scoffed then. ‘’An accident? The Surgeon doesn’t do _accidents_.’’

Ainsley rolled her eyes. ''He did tell me that I was much stronger than I let on and that it was a mark of being a Whitly. Then he gave me an ice tea recipe.''

''A what now?''

''Apparently it's a family tradition to know it.'' Ainsley was just as confused by this as Malcolm was.

''Really? What New Yorker cares for ice tea?''

''That's what I said!'' Ainsley's voice was louder than intended. The killer turned to them and began to subtly approach. He held a butcher's cleaver in his hands.

The killer began to wave about the cleaver. Ainsley, at this point in her life, had become numbed to everything. It was the anti anxiety medication she was taking. In dosages that Malcolm thought a bit excessive, personally, but wasn't allowed to say anything because their mother was more of a pharmacist than their father with the amount of drugs she’d done in her youth and present and was going to do in the future.

Malcolm kicked the killer in an attempt to trip him. He succeeded. And the killer then, in a very clumsy showing of human mobility, fell on top of the cleaver.

Blood spilled from the killer's wound.

‘’Well that’s anticlimactic.’’ Ainsley shook her head.

Malcolm sighed. ‘’I mean…’’

‘’Does this count as murder?’’

‘’He fell on it.’’

‘’Chicago wants its lines back, Malcolm.’’

The circle Ainsley and Malcolm were tied inside of began to glow. The book wasn't nearly as picky apparently.

''Do you think these are special effects?'' Ainsley asked.

''I think we're about to find out.'' Malcolm braced for impact.

The light turned blinding, gusts of wind flew from below them, and slowly their chairs began to sink into the definitely-not-magical portal. Ainsley forbade magic from being real. Malcolm was honestly counting this as a regular Tuesday for him.

* * *

Even though Malcolm had a problem with sleeping deeply, it turned out that Ainsley was an even lighter a sleeper than her brother. She came to her senses on a bed. The upside of this was that she noted she wasn’t tied to a chair anymore. This wasn’t half bad, actually.

She stirred awake on the bed and noticed that Malcolm was on another bed across from her, snuggled up with a comforter. There was a _Hang in There_ poster with a kitten above the bed. The cat had a small stethoscope glued to it which Ainsley thought made these already ridiculous and pathetic posters even more ridiculous and pathetic.

Her eyes scanned the perimeter and she noticed that there was a man sleeping in a chair. Distastefully she noted that he had a mullet. Who would ever have a mullet in the grand year of 2020?

Overhead her bed there was calendar. Ainsley's heart nearly stopped when she saw that the year said 1985. There were joke calendars, she tried to soothe herself. This was just a big practical joke.

She noted the medical textbooks stacked in an impressive and probably nervous-breakdown inducing pile. Her surroundings clicked into place and she realized that it was a dormitory. A student's dormitory.

''Malcolm-'' She hissed. The last thing she needed right now was to get caught up in some student’s fantasy.

Her brother was stirring. That was good. He was alive. All while hugging a strange man's comforter. Only her brother. Though, oddly enough – Ainsley didn’t think she ever saw him this peaceful.

''Malcolm,'' she hissed, a little louder now. He could sleep peacefully when he was dead. Right now she needed him.

''Oh- oh!'' The mullet man spoke and Ainsley's heart stopped cold in her chest. Because she knew that voice. ''Hello, you're awake. That's amazing! I found you tied up in a nearby park. I gathered it was a hazing gone wrong.''

''Hazing?''

''Sorority – fraternity hazing. Oh now, they're _brutal_.'' The man continued rambling. He waved his arms about and told Ainsley about college life. Not that he was about the Greek life himself. He was studying to be a surgeon. Ainsley gasped. He thought this to mean that she was sympathetic to his incredibly difficult work load. ''I haven't gone to a single party these past four years. I'm going insane. My bachelor is going to end this year and then I'm going to have to go into med school, you know. That's going to be ...'' The man whom Ainsley was convinced was her father at this point swayed in his seat and looked onward with a harrowing sort of look. He didn't see better days ahead of him.

Ainsley opened her mouth to say something comforting when he jumped from his seat and exclaimed: ''Want to go to a party with me? I was going to go last night, but I found you and your-''

''Brother.'' Ainsley cleared her throat. ''He's my brother.''

He smiled. Ainsley knew that smile. It was his big, wide, and superbly interested in learning more about people smile. ''How wonderful. Yes, I found you two and brought you back here. What kind of future doctor would I be if I just left you so defenceless?''

Ainsley had a lot of things to say to that exact question, but she didn't – because she was convinced that this was all some elaborate gas-induced hallucination. She hoped it was.

Malcolm stirred awake finally and when he saw the man who’d brilliantly rescued them from spending a night out in the cold – he screamed.

Ainsley really wondered how she’d become the killer of this family. She lacked the inborn dramatics of Malcolm.

Oh god. Her vision focused on their so-called saviour. He was wearing stripes over squares. Ainsley wanted to throw up in her mouth.

‘’Oh shush now. I’m not going to hurt y’all.’’

Y’all.

Ainsley was reeling.

Malcolm stopped screaming when that word registered in his brain.

They both looked at this fashion disaster of a man. He outstretched both of his hands for both siblings to shake. ‘’Where are my manners?’’ Ainsley thought they had gone in the same direction where his good fashion sense had, ‘’Hello, I’m Martin Whitly.’’

‘’Ainsley Bright.’’ Ainsley introduced herself. She pointed to Malcolm, who was _staring_ , ‘’And that’s my brother Malcolm.’’

‘’Hello Dr. Whitly.’’

Martin almost cried out at that title. ‘’God I hope. I dream.’’ Then after a moment. ‘’Wait, how did you know I wanted to be a doctor?’’

‘’All the medical textbooks.’’ Ainsley pointed back to the stack.

‘’Ah. Right. Well.’’ Martin chuckled awkwardly. It was so odd to see him young. He was younger than Ainsley and Malcolm both. He twiddled with his thumbs awkwardly (he didn’t even have the beard) and waited for his compatriots to say something.

‘’You’re the only one in your dorm?’’

‘’God no, my roommate went off to Connecticut to visit his parents. It’s a lot simpler to go there via bus than it is to fly out to Florida.’’

Malcolm and Ainsley exchanged a look.

‘’Wait, Doc- _Martin_ , you’re from Florida?’’ Malcolm hoped he’d understood wrong. He didn’t know what to do with this life-changing piece of information.

Martin nodded. ‘’Born and raised.’’ He placed a hand to his hip and heroically stood in the dormitory.

Ainsley shriek-laughed.

‘’This makes so much sense.’’ Malcolm whispered under his breath.

Martin asked them, again, desperately, if they wanted to go to this party. ‘’Yesterday’s was held by the business majors, but this one ought to be snazzy, too. I hope. Yesterday was the biggest party of the whole semester. I hyped myself up to go. I really wanted to go and meet the ladies.’’ He slicked his hair back. ‘’Maybe a Mrs. Whitly waited for me at the party to end all parties, but – you know – life’s a fickle mistress.’’ He looked really bummed out that he hadn’t gone to that party.

‘’Snazzy?’’ Ainsley mouthed at Malcolm. He was still processing this. It was a lot.

Martin chuckled: ‘’Please? I really don’t want to be seen alone at this party. I probably won’t know anyone there.’’

‘’You don’t know us.’’ Ainsley broke it to him. But she couldn’t help but notice that he wasn’t nearly as self-confident as he was in the future. God, without that beard he looked like an infant.

‘’I know your names.’’ Martin said. ‘’That counts. Also, I can tell you’re both older than me so you’re either repeaters or alumni. What did you study?’’

‘’Journalism.’’ Ainsley would play this cool alumni role.

‘’Ooh.’’ Martin looked genuinely interested. Ainsley didn’t know whether he’d turned his charm on specifically for them or if he just had it accidentally flipped on. Meeting a young serial killer was a different experience. Oh, Ainsley thought for a moment, what if he hadn’t killed anyone yet?

‘’How old are you, Martin’’’

Martin got around to offering them biscuits he dug out form his giant backpack. His inborn hospitality was resurfacing. Ainsley took one. Malcolm did, too.

‘’I’m twenty-two.’’

Malcolm choked. And then wheezed. And continued to choke.

Martin looked _elated_. ‘’Oh! A chance for me to use the Heimlich manoeuvre – Malcolm, never you fret I’ve got you.’’


	2. Chapter 2

The party was a bust. Ainsley was nursing her one beer can and looking around the basement. These students were almost all film majors or art majors or philosophy majors. They talked about life and the intricate pattern of its backlash while speaking about poignant topics regarding ethics and the underbelly of society.

She tried to sniff out marijuana, because being sober during this entire debacle was the worst possible thing to happen to her.

Martin was shuffling about, still trying to interact with people because this was his first college party. Ainsley felt a little bad for him. To be young and a nerd – twas a life Ainsley Whitly never let herself explore. She was always invited everywhere because she'd inherited her mother's good looks.

Thank fuck, Ainsley sipped her beer, that Jessica hadn't given her a predisposition for alcoholism. She looked at her beer can. Peered right into it. Ainsley frowned and put the beer can aside to go talk to Martin.

The music was on vinyl, but it was about three decades too out of date. Ainsley wanted to break it to them that 80s music was the best goddamn music in the world. She didn't though, because that would be uncool. Ainsley was anything but uncool.

Malcolm was talking to the philosophy majors.

Ainsley thought about barfing. She really was currently the coolest member of this family.

Martin was sipping on his beer. He grimaced with each sip.

''Not a fan of beer?''

''Not really.'' He startled when he saw her so close. ''I don't drink frequently.''

''You got any brothers and sisters?'' Ainsley asked. She leaned on the wall next to him and crossed her arms. Martin shrugged.

''Don't like your family?''

Her mom made them never talk about the Whitly family. It was bad enough they shared their surname, they didn't have to share their stories or even pretend they existed.

''They're all right. They put really high expectations on me. Told me to either make my own way or no way at all.'' Martin chuckled awkwardly and sipped at his beer to avoid further conversation.

''Now that's pretty Spartan.’’ Her voice boomed as she imitated a Spartan warrior: ‘’Either with your shield or on it, scum.''

‘’Kinda exactly like that, yeah.’’

Ainsley tentatively patted Martin on the back.

''Why are you and your brother here to visit campus?''

''We decided to drop by. Got nostalgic for the sweet feeling of college life.''

''You two nearly gave me a heart attack when I saw you in the park. I wanted to call the police.'' Martin said. He looked for another beer to drink because this party was an absolute nightmare. He wondered if all parties were like this. Or if there was something wrong with him for not enjoying this wreck of a party.

Malcolm seemed to be having the time of his life. The psychologist majors had found him. Oh god. He was talking about how Freud was wrong. Not again, Ainsley thought whilst having flashbacks. Half of the psychology majors looked relieved while the other half wanted to burn him at a stake.

Ainsley was kicking it with her young dad and talking about life.

''Why do you want to be a doctor?''

''I just want to do something with my life that won't leave me jobless.''

Ainsley had a lot of things to say about pursuing medicine and winding up with a degree that collected dust, but thought better to keep her mouth shut on this one topic. ''Anything in particular? A gynecologist?''

Martin looked frightened at the prospect. Ainsley almost burst into laughter again.

''My mother would kill me.'' He blinked rapidly. ''She's very old fashioned.''

Grandma Whitly. Ainsley and Malcolm had never met her. Jessica told him that she didn't want them anywhere near such a banshee and that the day she died ought to be turned into a national holiday. It did. Grandma Whitly died on October 21st 2001.

''What like no sex before marriage?'' Ainsley laughed.

Martin nodded.

Ainsley laughed harder. ''No way.''

''Can we stop talking about my mother, please. Why don't you tell me why you and your brother were tied up in a **_park_**?''

Ainsley was just about to utilize her set of skills as a creative writing minor when Malcolm walked up to them, high as a kite. ''I ate a couple of brownies. I didn't know they were weed brownies. Ainsley, watch me for signs of distress.''

Martin just stared at Malcolm. He asked him what it was like to be high.

Ainsley asked him, outright, if he'd never been high.

''Well, it's illegal – you know. I am on a scholarship.'' Martin began excusing his lack of party life. ''I am even in an honour society. My GPA is really high. You have to have your wits about you when you try to become a doctor.''

''Martin,'' Ainsley didn't find the problem to switch to calling her dad by his first name, Malcolm still struggled, ''Martin, do you trust me?''

''I really, really don't.'' Martin said the first smart thing this entire evening.

Ainsley grabbed his hand and led him to the brownies. ''One for my friend here.''

A very dispassionate film major, who only watched Hitchcock movies and nothing else because fun didn't exist in his life, handed him a brownie on a paper plate and told him to have fun. Ainsley cheered him on.

Martin ate the brownie. ''This better not awaken anything in me. If I get a taste for breaking the law… who's telling what else I could be capable of doing.''

Ainsley had a moment of dread that deepened her stomach and turned it into a painful void. What if eating this brownie triggered something in Martin Whitly that would make him realize that killing people wasn't that big of a leap from getting illegally high? The possibilities were endless.

Malcolm and she weren't still sure how they'd travelled back in time.

‘‘It’s magic.''

''There has to be a scientific explanation for that, Malcolm.''

''It's magic, Ainsley.''

''This isn't Freaky Friday or whatever. This is Back to the Future territory.''

Martin had been too busy slicking his mullet into perfect volume to pay attention to their rambling. His style of dress was so bad that Ainsley almost recommended it would be better if he wore a Hawaiian T-shirt instead of this mess.

But back to the matter at hand.

Ainsley was now in charge of keeping two high babies safe. One was her brother, 32, and the other was her dad,22.

''How do you feel?'' She asked Martin.

He giggled.

Ainsley thought that this was the first time she heard her dad giggle. It was kind of sweet.

Malcolm began to dance to Elvis. He dragged Martin to dance, too.

One person came up to her, now that she was alone. Ainsley tried to look away. She really didn't feel like verbally lashing upon someone who wanted to hit on her.

''Your boyfriends are cute!'' The man shouted over the music.

Ainsley wished the music was louder because hearing this was the worst thing she'd ever heard. And she'd heard the squelching sound of gushing blood when she'd killed another person.

''FUCK YOU.'' Ainsley shouted.

The man flipped her off.

It was New York, all right.

* * *

On their victorious walk back to the dorms, Malcolm got closer to their dad. ‘’Do you have any hobbies?’’

‘’I liked to dissect dead animals I found off the side of the road back in Florida.’’

Ainsley really wondered how her morbid brother didn’t wind up killing another person and here she was, supposed well-adjusted Whitly, covered with blood, still thinking about a trial that didn’t happen and right now wouldn’t happen in over 35 years.

‘’I did ballet.’’ Malcolm smiled.

‘’Ballet? No wonder you’re so fit.’’ Martin praised. ‘’I’m made out of stress eating and high-intense study sessions. The ladies must love you.’’

‘’Ah, well.’’ Malcolm thought about Eve. ‘’Yeah.’’

Ainsley, to switch the topic from derailing into a cataclysmic mess, asked: ''What's your roommate called?''

Martin whispered. ''He told me once when we first met but I didn't catch it so now I've been too embarrassed to ask. We've been dorming together for four years now.''

Malcolm wheezed at learning that. He leaned on Martin, who supported his weight.

Ainsley trailed closely. ''You guys feeling hungry?''

''Yeaah!'' They chorused like small children.

Ainsley realized she didn't have cash on her.

Malcolm seemed to have come to the same conclusion.

When they'd gotten kidnapped they didn't have any money on them.

Slowly they looked to Martin and asked him if he had any cash.

''Sure, y'all, daddio's gotcha.'' And then he snapped his fingers into guns to shoot imaginary bullets at them.

''Daddio?''

''Sounds hip and cool right?''

''No, it really doesn't.''

''Aw.'' Martin pouted. He took out his wallet anyway and handed Ainsley money to go buy them snacks. ''I love chips!''

''Ains, Ains – I want Doritos.''

''Malcolm, it's 1985, I'll see what I can dig up.''

‘’Doritos have been around since the 60s, Ains. You can find Doritos.’’ Malcolm seemed to just know when his favourite snack was made. Ainsley wasn’t surprised by anything anymore.

''What are Doritos?''

''They're _so_ good, Martin.''

''Never tried them before.'' He hugged Malcolm. ''You and your sister are really being so gnarly right now. I am so happy I got to meet you two. Even though the circumstances are dubious as heck. I go to that park often and if there is someone dangerous out there collecting people, I'd prefer it if you told me. I'll go to the police with you if you want.''

Malcolm didn't know how to feel about the fact that his dad, a notorious serial killer, was a law abiding citizen. It had to be a rouse. He would expect nothing less.

Ainsley came back with chips. She gave Martin the change. For herself she had a water bottle because she knew how to pace herself while drinking. Unlike her brother and dad.

''Could we be friends, y'all?''

''You don't have any?''

''Not really.''

''Oh that's kinda sad- '' Ainsley said at the same time as Malcolm said , ''I think it's okay not to have friends. People will come.''

''You're so sweet, Malcolm. Whoever raised you did a fine job.''

''Did a fine job of messing him up.'' Ainsley said through pretend-coughs.

Malcolm glared at her.

They got to the dorm and Ainsley had to sober them up. Malcolm was fine. He was used to being higher than this. With literal cocaine smashed in his face or whatever else his job dozed him on. Martin, though, was being such an absolute weirdo.

He pointed to the Hang In There poster and said that he glued the stethoscope on there. ''it's motivation for me.''

''Do you have a girlfriend, Martin?''

Malcolm said 'ew'.

Martin looked devastated.

Ainsley, as the only one here with a brain cell, began to piece together that something was definitely wrong. Because it was 1985. Malcolm was born in 1988. And at that point their parents were together for a while. They didn't have any sort of shotgun wedding. In fact, they married a year after they finished college. Or so Grandpa Milton told her while bemoaning the fact that his daughter had married someone who wasn't Upper West. Then he said he was also embarrassed he turned into a serial killer. Grandpa Milton hated the former a lot more than Martin turning out to be a serial killer. Jessica didn't let them talk to Grandpa Milton often.

''I just never... found the time to interact with many ladies.''

At least he called them ladies instead of females.

Jessica wouldn't date him otherwise.

''What do you think of Jessica Milton~'' Ainsley sing-sang.

Martin stammered quickly. ''Wha- wh – excuse me – no.'' He stood up and left the dormitory.

''Oh he has it _bad_.''

He got back into the dormitory after a minute. ''I do not. She doesn't even know I exist. She's a **_business_** major. My only chance was to wow her at the party, but she's taken now and I've missed my chance. The only other thing I can do, as a _gentleman_ , is to back down when I know I've been beaten.''

Malcolm, finally sober enough to use his brain, pushed his brain into overdrive. ''Wait, wait what do you mean you and Jessica Milton aren't together?''

Martin sighed in aggravation. He gestured himself. ''Look at me.''

''You're cute.'' Ainsley said.

''Oh, well,'' Martin smiled. He had dimples. Jessica loved dimples. ''Thank you, Ainsley. But Jessica is an elite. She is an actual New Yorker. If they don't like what you do or say they take a bottle of expensive whisky, break it over an even more expensive table, let all of the liquid just go to waste, and then shiv you with the glass shards.''

''Has this happened?'' Malcolm wondered.

''I've seen it.'' Martin nodded. ''They fight like rats. Have you seen a rat fight another rat? It's terrifying. I’ve wrestled a gator once and it didn’t scare me as much.''

Malcolm asked Ainsley to accompany him outside for a quick conversation, unrelated to Martin entirely – he shrugged and said that he didn't mind. ''I'm just happy I went to this party. I actually had fun. It was very kind of you both.''

Ainsley snapped her hands into fingers and half-heartedly tried to remember old people slang: ‘’Radically tubular, man.’’

Martin looked at her like she was the weirdo. Ainsley was not weird. She didn’t have a mullet for goodness’ sake.

Once outside Malcolm began to shake Ainsley. ''If our parents don't get together in the past we won't exist in the future!''

Ainsley, murder charge under her belt, Whitly had this to say: ''And is that really such a bag thing, Malcolm?’’

‘’Don’t you want to exist?’’

Ainsley rolled her eyes. Suicidal ideation wasn’t a good look on her. ‘’Of course.’’

‘’Oh my god you don’t, do you?’’

‘’I won’t outright kill myself, but giving my mother a chance at real happiness does sound like a good way to go. Don’t you think that?’’

Malcolm, must have all of the problems of the world on his shoulders, Bright had this to say: ‘’Honestly… whoever she’s dating now can’t be worse than dad, right?’’

‘’That’s what I’m telling you.’’ Ainsley opened the dorm door and on her way inside asked Martin who this guy was that Jessica Milton was dating.

Martin was lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, and in a dejected sigh told them the identity of their mother’s alternative chance at happiness: ‘’His name’s Nicholas Endicott.’’

Malcolm and Ainsley exchanged a look.

Jessica Milton sure knew how to pick them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly all of these comments are motivating as hell so keep em coming *rubs hands like fly* and i'll keep supplying muahahaha


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> one about jessica

Jessica Milton was a goddess.

This was just something everybody had come to accept unanimously on the campus. When she levelled her gaze on you, it made you feel very important. When she laughed at one of your jokes and it wasn't done out of pity, it made you feel incredibly powerful. Her attention was something to be devoured and everyone knew it.

She was a business major, old money, and a real New Yorker. These three things created a mixture that got them Jessica Milton.

All of her clothes were branded, because– of course – they were. Nothing less could be expected from a Milton.

At all times she was surrounded by a couple of her friends from class. One of them was even her roommate. Everyone wanted to be in her place. A chance to see Jessica Milton in the flesh without her guard up was a sight indeed.

A sight that her newest boyfriend (a pet, really – because Jessica found people as easy to play with as she did her family's poodle) had finally earned the right to see.

Everyone was talking about the most chic of suitors to come out of the greatest party of the campus: Nicholas Endicott (perfection incarnate, chiselled cheekbones that reminisced an ancient Greek classic with how much a sea of girls screeched like a Greek choir at the sight of them, and enough money to not technically need to work a day in his life).

He used the opportune moment to go up to Jessica (while she was coming down from one of her infamous highs) and asked her if she wanted to go for a walk with him.

Jessica had laughed, as any good girl, and then told him that she wouldn't mind such a thing.

Thus Nicholas Endicott had an epiphany that he quite enjoyed people saying 'yes' to him.

He offered Jessica her arm, playing up how chivalrous he was, and when she took it he led them away through a park. Not far from them (though, thankfully too far for Jessica's muddy mind to notice) there was a creepy young man fretting about two tied up people in chairs.

Nicholas, as someone who wanted to get laid, decided to ignore this. It was New York, after all.

Jessica didn't say no that night, or the morning when he asked to be his girlfriend.

A power couple was born. It elicited awe from many, deep rooted hatred from some, and a fair dose of disbelief. Because Jessica Milton didn't look like she was the type of girl to ever go for the obvious choice. All of her other flings were odd in a distinct way that Nicholas Endicott just wasn't.

Nicholas Endicott, on paper, looked like a guy who was perfect for meeting the parents, showing up at weddings with, desecrating funerals with, making children with, and just staring at.

Jessica wasn't a person who liked a safe choice. So, they came to the conclusion that Jessica Milton was only in it with Nicholas because of what everyone assumed to be a large dick. There really wasn't any other explanation for it. He was just... uninteresting otherwise. Rich pretty boy.

Nothing like Jessica – the goddess – the powerhouse – the queen of parties.

Most people who met Jessica Milton thought that she was just a rich girl who partied way too hard. She was that, of course, but she was also a lot more than that.

For example.

Whenever a final exam had to be done and the attendance was so low the professor said he'd prefer to do it via conversation – she was the first one to raise her hand and decide to give it a try. Because Jessica Milton liked to do one thing that everyone else was too afraid or too stressed to do so: lead.

Nicholas, too, wanted to lead.

Jessica was beginning to be quite bored of him because of that. She wanted a man who wasn't frightened of letting her take charge. Nicholas, sweet – sweet Nicholas. Jessica grimaced.

One of her friends, Heather, asked her if she was still hungover and needed to throw up, already ready to offer her handbag up for the honour.

''No!'' Jessica exclaimed. Heather looked down quickly, ashamed of herself for trying to be nice. Jessica sighed. ''I mean, Heather – that won't be necessary.''

What did it say about her that Jessica had known a man for a day and a half as a boyfriend and already wanted to dump him? She didn't know. What she did know was that she had to go through this week as best as she could. It was her last year of college.

''I'm almost sad to graduate soon.'' Jessica grimaced, again. She was sober enough to feel feelings? That was a new one for her.

Heather nodded her dear empty head and smiled. ''It's going to be so good! We'll be free, Jessica. Freee!'' Heather wasn't a business major, surprisingly enough. She studied English literature and Jessica respected that amount of masochism as much as she respected anyone trying to study to be a doctor. Now that was a sort Jessica was strangely curious about.

She tapped her lips with a perfectly manicured nail and thought about what she would do once she dumped Nicholas. The possibilities were endless. Though she wouldn't dump him today because he did a thing with his tongue that Jessica quite enjoyed and after her exam today she'd need the pick-me-up.

''I love your outfit, Jessica.'' Heather, ever the suck up, praised. ''The shoulder pads really accentuate your figure. And the side-pony tail with the neon scrunchie – **_yum_**!''

''Thanks.'' Jessica forced a smile to her lips. This sort of life was seriously growing on her nerves. A small part of her wanted to stop going to parties and stop hanging around these people that felt like energy vampires at this point than friends. An entourage wasn't a friend group, was it?

''Oh my god, Jessica, Heather – you two look amazing!'' Heather, this one a business major, waved them over to her seat in the campus cafe.

Though, on another hand; Jessica really did like partying and getting so fucked up that she'd need Business Heather and English Heather to drag her away from the scene of the crime and help her get home. Ah yes. Sweet, _sweet_ self-destruction, Jessica Milton knew ye intimately.

''Heather your top is **_so_** sexy. I love the bold colours.''

Nasally: ''Thaaanks.''

Jessica was going insane. Especially because she was sure in a way she didn't quite know how to define that Business Heather and English Heater had the hots for each other. She glanced at her wristwatch and realized that drinking a glass of wine right now wouldn't be appropriate.

Her friends (minions?) seemed to know what her impatience meant because they said that there was a party at the end of the week. Jessica knew this party. She and Nicholas had already said they'd be going there as a couple. Could Jessica dump him at the party? She began to think, ignoring her two friends – minions – followers. Whatever, Jessica really didn't have time to talk to pining lesbians right now.

This was more important. Figuring out how to dump Nicholas Endicott. Apparently all of the relationship he'd had before ended amicably – a plus – but they ended because Nicholas broke it off – a big fat minus. Jessica did the breaking up, thank you. She had an ego the size of this entire goddamn fucking country – if Nicholas Endicott thought she would let him break this relationship up he had another thing coming.

Business Heather and English Heather were holding hands. Jessica wished she'd meet someone who would make her this horribly sappy. Boyfriends just seemed to tense her up. She had to be the socialite all the time when she was with her boyfriend.

Jessica thought that years down the line she might enjoy being a socialite and that she didn't hate the idea of that, but that right now – currently –she just wanted to get high. Her nails dug into her palm and she unclasped her fist to see the marks.

To appease her need she ordered coffee – black. Like her soul.

Business Heather always liked that joke.

English Heather said it wasn't nice to say something bad about yourself like that. Jessica really wondered why she hung around English Heather. She didn't need that type of positivity in her life right now.

One coffee turned out to be nothing. She ordered another one.

Two was just right. ''Thank you~'' She waved at the waiter and he stumbled over a chair and fell down once he'd looked at her. Jessica counted this as the greatest compliment. She loved putting men in harm's way just by looking at them. It filled her with a sense of triumph.

On her way outside she saw this twig of a man.

He spotted her, they made eye contact, and he backpedalled in the opposite direction. Jessica rolled her eyes.

''Martin, wait!'' A very fit man ran after him. Jessica wouldn't mind getting a piece of him, really.

This all left a blonde woman staring at her. Jessica would humour the poor. ''What do you want?'’

The blonde looked even more frazzled at hearing her be addressed. Jessica needed drugs. This was annoying. The whole world was annoying right now. She'd dig into her purse right now and swallow 'mints' if she had any left.

''Are you Jessica Milton?''

''If I say I am, will you stop staring at me?''

The blonde nodded.

''I _am_ Jessica Milton, how can I help you?'' She was using her socialite, I'm better than you voice.

The blonde did not stop staring. In fact her eyes had widened. ''Side pony-tail.'' She whispered in horror and walked backwards.

Jessica Milton began to worry that side pony-tails were out and that nobody had told her. This was a terrifying reaction to have upon seeing them on another person. She rolled her eyes and slid the scrunchie off, pushing it so it was around her wrist now. Her hair cascaded down and looked horrendous how any hair right out of a pony tail looked like.

''Is this better now?'' She placed her hands to her hips and stared this blonde woman down with a mean eye.

''Y-yes. Goodbye. You look excellent.''

And then, much alike the two men, she sprinted away from her.

Jessica hoped that if she ever had children they wouldn't be nearly as spineless.

Turning to Heather and Heather, she asked them if they knew a good ecstasy dealer anywhere.

English Heather did. How else did people expect her to write so many papers without any help? Honestly. The nerve of some people.

Jessica Milton smiled. She remembered why she hung around English Heather now.

* * *

Nicholas, as per usual, found her high in his apartment. He'd told her where he kept the key.

''Don't you think you have a problem?''

''Like you mind it.'' Jessica scoffed.

Nicholas nodded at that. ''Fair. I _don't_ mind.''

Jessica really wished her next prey might mind. Just to spice things up.

He kissed her and grabbed a fistful of her hair, tugging her into his face. His tongue – and god he used way too much tongue – did things that Jessica thought she liked when she was drunk, but didn't like at all when she was just high.

Nicholas was one of those people that tried so hard to do something innovative but missed the mark horrendously. Jessica hoped, with age, that he'd learn how to kiss right. She had a feeling everyone was too afraid to tell him he sucked.

Jessica didn't have a problem doing that.

Nicholas, however, had a problem _hearing_ that.

He broke up with her and called her names.

Jessica would not be dumped!

She offered Nicholas a chance to get his dick sucked if he took her back. He, very naively, did.

Jessica then broke up with _him_ and left his apartment. She slammed the door shut on her way out.

Only Jessica Milton was allowed to initiate break ups in her own relationship!


	4. Chapter 4

Martin Whitly wanted to show Ainsley and Malcolm around town.

’’I’m down for that.’’ Ainsley was never one to say no to a good time. And going around New York City in the 80s had to be a source of good times.

Malcolm asked Martin if he knew where Jessica Milton went to. ’’We’ll help you get her, man.’’

’’I’m not one to intrude on relationships, Malcolm. That just isn’t who I am.’’ Martin broke it to them.

’’I know, and that’s very admirable – but don’t you owe it to yourself to try and pursue Jessica’s attention and if she shoots you down it’s the real deal then. She doesn’t want anything to do with you. It’s done. You’re done. But if you don’t try, how will you know?’’

Ainsley nodded. ’’Well, yeah. I agree with my brother here. Did you think of maybe growing a beard and if yes, how fast could you grow a full beard?’’

Malcolm and Martin looked at Ainsley then. ’’Growing facial hair is hard.’’

’’Naah.’’ Ainsley said.

Martin rubbed his chin. ’’Most of the professors mind students having beards. It isn’t a part of the professional dress code. Clean shaven is where it’s at.’’

’’Would you grow a beard if Jessica liked beards?’’

’’I’d slap a fucking poodle on my face.’’

’’That’s the right attitude.’’ Ainsley high fived Martin.

Martin finally decided to take them out. Malcolm thought that – somehow – and he didn’t know how – there were more drug dealers in New York now than there ever would be in 2020. Ainsley spotted a cafe and asked to go in there because it looked clean.

’’That’s where Jessica goes with the Heathers.’’ Martin said. He asked for them not to go there.

’’The Heathers?’’ Ainsley’s mind went to a similarly titled film. ’’You don’t say?’’ She smugly purred.

Malcolm rolled his eyes. But that couldn’t prepare them for when Jessica actually opened the door to the cafe. She was on her way out. Malcolm had seen many things, but nothing could prepare him for his young mother kicking it in 80s attire and rubbing her nose while glaring daggers at both the sun for deigning to shine upon her specifically and them three.

Martin ran in the opposite direction. Malcolm cursed under his breath and ran after him.

Ainsley sputtered and walked backwards.

All in all. This was a very poor showing of how they all reacted to Jessica Milton.

They regrouped in Central park.

Ainsley blurted out, stunned beyond comprehension: ’’She’s _devastatingly_ hot.’’

Martin bemoaned. He buried his head in his hands. ’’I saw her with her entourage and I panicked.’’

’’Do you panic when it’s just her?’’

’’We had one conversation once. She forgot.’’ Martin explained.

’’What happened?’’

’’It was two years ago.’’

’’You’ve been pining for two years?’’ Ainsley was, yet again, about to call her father sad.

Martin rolled his eyes. ’’Of course I wasn’t, Ainsley. I had a life outside of her. I didn’t even register I was talking to a person during that conversation. But a couple of days ago I saw her again and it’s like something in me awoke and told me to actually try my hand at asking her out. I had this entire plan laid out. I’d wear my sexiest dress shirt – peacock inspired colour palette – and I’d woo her. And she’d go out with me. And maybe we’d get married if things went well. Oh no. Now that I’m telling you all this sounds so stupid, doesn’t it?’’

‘’No.’’ Malcolm said.

‘’Yes.’’ Ainsley said.

Malcolm elbowed his sister. She elbowed him back.

Martin looked up at the sky, as if to pray.

‘’What do you mean you didn’t register she was a person when you had that first conversation?’’ Malcolm, ever willing to learn more things about how the Surgeon came to be, would be fascinated to find out about possible black outs.

Martin raised his hands in the air and exclaimed: ’’People were just dancing textbooks for me that entire day. It isn’t weird!’’

’’Nerd.’’ Ainsley whispered under her breath. She thanked Jessica Whitly’s upbringing for making her into a cool person.

’’No, no it isn’t weird.’’ Malcolm, known for hallucinations that came from lack of sleep but for vastly different reason than his 4.0 gpa father, understood in full. ’’You’re all right.’’

’’The air is weirdly clearer now.’’ Ainsley commented, meaning on the 80s as a whole. Malcolm got that. Martin looked confused.

’’Where are y’all from when New York City has clear air for you?’’

Ainsley closed her eyes at the accent, once more. ’’Do you at least come from a big city from Florida?’’

’’I live near Gatorland.’’

Ainsley wheezed. Malcolm was struggling for composure at this point, as well. This side of their father was brand new.

’’Felt honestly liberating to have a predator at your mercy. Made me feel powerful.’’

Ainsley wiped a tear away. ’’You ever feel like taking a life?’’

Martin narrowed his eyes.

Malcolm shushed Ainsley for being so forward. She shrugged. At this point she was just here for the chaos.

’’I mean... I don’t _think_ I’m a killer. Like where would you find the time to bury a body?’’

Malcolm agreed with this. ’’A student can’t have enough time for extracurricular activities. Though, you’d have time to do it when you become a surgeon.’’

’’Oof. Who said anything about becoming a surgeon? It’s brains where it’s at. Cardiology is boring.’’

Ainsley looked away, wearing a grin.

Malcolm was flabbergasted. ’’What do you mean cardiology is _boring_? Martin, you love cardiology.’’

’’I really don’t. The heart is a thankless organ. You can really fuck a brain up and still keep going, though in a wonkier way. I admit.’’ Martin leaned on this bench they’d all occupied. He shrugged, again. ’’I’m not sure what I want to do. Maybe. Okay. Maybeee I’ll consider cardiology.’’

Malcolm went off about cardiology. Ainsley just watched him go.

Martin, quietly, asked Malcolm if he had finished med school. ’’Did I strike a nerve, oh Malcolm, my pal, my buddy, _my boy_ – I am sorry.’’

Malcolm flinched at hearing that phrase come out of Martin Whitly’s mouth. It was the same person speaking, but then again – it wasn’t. Because this man hadn’t killed yet, didn’t go steady with Jessica Milton, and didn’t plan on studying to be a Surgeon.

This was an unfathomably weird day, all in all.

Ainsley asked Martin if there was something fun to do.

’’There is an arcade nearby.’’

So, Ainsley went off and did something she’d never done before with her father: she went to an arcade and played packman. He cheered her on. It was so sweet. Ainsley didn’t know how to feel about this. It was too sweet. She found that she didn’t mind.

What would happen if they failed? Would they really fade out of existence? What if by not being born the baby Malcolm and Ainsley would stop existing, but them two would continue existing in the 80s? What if this wasn’t the past, but some alternative timeline that they’d done messed up? This all sounded like a goldmine for a movie. Ainsley would begin writing it down when she got Martin his date with Jessica.

’’Okay, how would you flirt with me. Pretend I’m Jessica.’’

’’You’re obviously not Jessica.’’

’’She’s unbelievably hot. I couldn’t believe it. Yes. Let’s move on from this uncomfortable topic.’’

’’Hey, don’t be like that,’’ Martin patted Ainsley’s hand. ’’I think you’re very sexy.’’

Ainsley wanted to throw up over herself.

Malcolm closed his eyes and tried to look away from this dumpterstifre of a situation.

’’Okay, but how do you flirt with ladies?’’

’’I go up to them.’’

’’Always a good start. Shouting things across the room is never sexy.’’

’’Right.’’ Martin asked if any of them had a small notebook he could write this all down on.

Ainsley felt like if she didn’t know it was the 80s she sure did now.

’’What’s your stature like?’’

’’What do you mean?’’

’’Don’t slouch.’’

’’Am I slouching?’’ Martin tried to straighten himself up. ’’I hope I’m not.’’

’’You could change your clothes.’’ Malcolm suggested. The neon hurt his eyes. The flamingos hurt his perception of his father. He tried to remember what he’d worn whilst free, but since he didn’t have any photos from that time to compare to he couldn’t quite remember right.

Ainsley could remember even less. ’’Do you own a suit?’’

’’I do not.’’

’’Wow.’’

’’I am not rich.’’

’’We’ll rent you a suit.’’

’’Should I get her flowers?’’

’’No.’’ ’’Yes.’’

Martin looked at Ainsley, who’d said no. ’’Why not?’’

’’She’s allergic to poor people flowers. You’d have to spring a lot on a bouquet.’’

’’Chocolates then?’’

’’Oh yeah. You cannot go wrong with chocolates. Women devour them like there’s no tomorrow.’’

’’Okay, so what do you think are some things you two have in common?’’

’’I could flatter her the entire date?’’

’’Eeeeh.’’ Ainsley shook her head. Unlike Malcolm, she’d actually spent a lot more time with their mother alone than he had. ’’Jessica looks like someone who doesn’t like empty flattery.’’

Once she’d gotten Jessica drunk on red wine and asked her things about how she and her dad had hooked up. It was a romantic story. Love at first sight. Butterflies had danced in her stomach until she had to digest them because her supposed love and dear husband had killed twenty-three people. No big deal.

But she did say that alcohol did have a key factor in their meeting. He was buzzed. Relaxed. Charismatic. He pulled her to dance.

’’Do you dance?’’

’’A bit.’’ Martin said he’d learned ballroom dancing for high school. That was perfect.

’’Now we’re getting somewhere.’’

’’I do appreciate you two just deciding to help me out like this. It’s very kind. Shows me that there _are_ good people in this city. I feel like this city only churns out monsters.’’

’’Jessica is a New Yorker.’’

’’Yes, but-’’

’’She’s hot. We get it.’’

’’-she’s funny.’’

’’What?’’

’’She made a pun. I remember that.’’

Malcolm and Ainsley began to think back on every single situation and conversation they’d had with their mother, trying desperately to remember if they’d ever heard their mother make a single pun. This had to be a hallucination from a sleep deprived brain. Nothing else could be believed.

‘’A pun?’’

‘’Oh you know you could take her out on a comedy night.’’ Malcolm suggested.

Ainsley gagged. ‘’Jessica Milton does _not_ like comedy nights.’’

‘’Oh that sounds like a wonderful idea! The next time I see her I’ll ask her to come with me to a comedy night for sure!’’ Martin clapped. His smile was so hopeful.

* * *

Jessica Milton was having second doubts about breaking up with Nicholas. It was the _80s_. Everyone sucked at kissing. She was drunk on wine. Wine always made her debauched and romantic. Ugh. She shouldn’t be drinking wine and guzzling vodka intermediately in a house party. It just wasn’t the Milton way. There wasn’t any imported rakija, too, to make matter worse. The immigrant Balkan students hadn’t come to this party so now she was contemplating whether to mix coca cola with red wine?

English Heather and Business Heather were making out in a far corner of the room. Someone opened them a door to a bedroom and it was theirs now. They’d occupied it. Nothing could be done about it.

A film major – an actual authentic film major decided to try his luck by approaching her. Jessica liked bold people. She asked him what he wanted to be when he grew up and he said he wanted to be better than Spielberg. Jessica, from her very limited knowledge of movies, already knew that this man was talking straight out of his arse.

She sipped her wine, coca cola, vodka combination and told her stomach to mind its own business. If her liver wasn’t complaining, it had no reason to then. ’’That sounds ... fascinating.’’ It couldn’t sound less fascinating.

Apparently this was an invitation for this boy to start talking to her about how filmmaking was high art and that violence against women filmed perfectly well. That he wanted to film movies that people would scream at seeing.

’’Horror?’’

’’Oh no. Sex. Explicit. Gratuitous.’’

Jessica really wished he’d stuck to horror. Because this entire monologue of his made her think she’d prefer being in a horror movie. Maybe like Jaws, or the Exorcist, or _Carrie_. Oh that was a good one. Jessica daydreamed about a special someone she could watch horror movies with that wouldn’t judge her for her secret love of all things morbid. Girls weren’t supposed to like morbid things.

Especially not Jessica _Milton_.

’’Do excuse me. I think I see someone. Goodbye.’’ Jessica made up seeing someone and left Wannabe Spielberg in the dust.

She latched onto a girl she vaguely recognized from seeing on campus. ’’Patricia, darling, hello!’’

’’My name’s Morticia.’’

’’I knew it was something inane.’’ Jessica laughed and made small talk. Nobody really knew what Morticia studied. She just appeared sporadically at parties and drank absinthe out of a paper cup. Never missed a single mixer. Always wore all black. Her eyes, too, seemed to just glow in the dark. It was like someone went around shining light over her eyes. Jessica glanced around the room. There really wasn’t anyone that did that. Strange.

Every campus had their cryptid story and for them it was Morticia.

’’Are you still single?’’

’’Oh no. I met this lovely chap.’’

’’Really?’’ Jessica was beginning to hate all of these stories. How could people just meet someone that kept them entertained? Someone that kept up with their thoughts? Jessica got bored of every single guy she’d dated, slept with, and then properly discarded in three days tops. Okay, all right. There was Crazy Jim and those crazy three weeks. She still didn’t know how he’d managed to last so long.

’’Mhm.’’ Morticia smiled and swooned and began to talk in depth about her conniving and dastardly and evil Gomez.

Jessica gathered he was good at sex. She saw someone giving out ’mints’ and went to have one before she had to find either Heather and get them to take care of her. Maybe she was gay? Oh god, Jessica didn’t want to be gay. It seemed like too much work. As a woman she could just lie there sometimes. As an equal in a relationship with _another_ woman that’d feel way too rude. Being gay and a woman had to be hard.

Maybe she’d ask Heathers if she was gay. Jessica thought she _could_ be gay.

’’Hey, Heather.’’ Jessica said, having opened the door to their humble abode. In another corner there was a girl and a guy making out. Everyone, it appeared, had someone to smash faces with except Jessica. She rubbed her nose at that and one of her hands twitched. The Heathers were making out, too busy to hear their high friend. ’’Heather!’’

Both Heathers turned.

Jessica cleared her throat. ’’I took some ’mints’.’’

’’Oh. Okay. You feeling good, sweetie?’’ English Heather asked. She had a hand on Business Heather’s breast. Jessica crawled onto bed with them. Maybe this was cockblocking, maybe it wasn’t. Jessica really didn’t care. She hugged both of her friends. ’’How’d you two find each other?’’

’’We met through you.’’ Business Heather laughed. ’’Jessica, do you need to go to the hospital?’’

’’Oh god, could you imagine? A Milton with a drug problem. No, no. I’ll come down on my own, thanks.’’

Jessica Milton, from any medical standpoint, was a work of art. A chef d’oeuvre. The way this woman’s body worked disagreed with all medical knowledge. She could drink however much she liked, do as many drugs as she wanted –and it wouldn’t necessitate going to hospital.

She was a legend.

Though, the cocaine would screw her up. Jessica rubbed her nose again. She really needed to quit, at least, that if not everything.

’’I need a good influence, I think.’’

’’Where’d you gonna get that in New York?’’ English Heather had a really good point.

Jessica closed her eyes. ’’Hug mee. Comfort meee.’’ They hugged her and told Jessica her hair was really pretty.

This was all the validation any drunk girl needed.

Nicholas opened the door. He’d arrived and been told where to find Jessica. Seeing her on the bed with two girls, hugging, confused the daylights out of him. So, whatever he wanted to say he stopped mid word, turned around, and left.

Jessica wouldn’t mind being gay.

’’Am I gay?’’ She asked.

’’You could be.’’ Business Heather offered to kiss her to check.

’’That okay with you, Heather?’’

’’Honestly go nuts.’’

Business Heather kissed like a proper human being and not a vacuum cleaner. This being gay thing was already way too good to be true. Oh the Heathers smelled like lavender. These were all new experiences for her.

’’So, _are_ you gay?’’

Jessica nodded.

Heather and Heather giggled.

* * *

When she left the mixer, giggly as hell. Followed by her two best friends, Jessica spotted that man from before. He was the lone bio major boy. Dressed awfully. He waved. Then, as if remembering that waving was dumb, hastily took out a book out of his giant backpack and began to read it in pitch darkness. It looked like he was waiting for her. Nah. Jessica shook her head. That was too creepy.

This guy wasn’t creepy. Honestly, he was kinda cute. He had chocolates he was holding out to her, too, now that she was closer to him.

’’You’re sooo cuteeee,’’ Jessica shouted and took the chocolates, ‘’but I’m gaayy now. So byee.’’ She waved him off. 

The man looked so happy when he heard the first part that Jessica felt bad about how his face fell when he heard the second part. But then she laughed, again, because she was gay now and she didn’t have to think about any other guy ever again.

* * *

‘’Well, status report man!’’ Ainsley demanded. They met up in Martin’s dorm.

Martin was one more sad news away from collapsing on the floor in a deep state of depression. ‘’She took the chcoolates.’’

‘’That’s good.’’ Malcolm praised. ‘’Anything else?’’

Martin nodded slowly. His eyes were wide, yet hollow: ’’She told me I was _cute_.’’

’’Hell yeah, Martin.’’

’’But also told me she was gay while getting carried around like a ragdoll by two known lesbians.’’

Malcolm nearly fainted. Ainsley was laughing so hard she was choking on her own tears.

Martin told them that there was no hope for him.

‘’Hey, hey.’’ On the bright side, Ainsley poked him. He uncurled from his horror-stricken pose. ‘’She’s not with Nicholas anymore.’’

Martin nodded. That did prove very beneficial.

‘’But you can’t change being gay.’’ Martin said, worriedly. ‘’If she’s gay she’s gay!’’

‘’Trust me, normally I’d agree.’’ Ainsley patted him on the back. ‘’But in this situation I know for a fact that Jessica Milton isn’t a lesbian.’’

‘’Yeah, da-Martin, she’s probably bisexual.’’

‘’A man can dream.’’ Martin looked longingly at the Hang In There poster.

* * *

Once Jessica had sobered up and found herself half naked with the Heathers, she decided to have an epiphany: ’’Oooh, I like ‘em **_both_**.’’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm just having so much fun, let me know in the comments what you thought of the story


	5. Chapter 5

What did people do in the 80s? A lot of things that neither Malcolm nor Ainsley wished to do to themselves because they preferred to live another day. What did students do in the 80s? Study. Party. Go to arcades. Though, they probably, also, dabbled in drugs. It was just that kind of decade.

But nothing of the aforementioned could prepare Malcolm and Ainsley for this pure, chaotic titbit of information.

’’I have a bowling team.’’ Martin just decided to abruptly drop this bomb on them both, as if it wasn’t a big deal. ’’We’re not really good.’’

’’You said you didn’t have friends?’’ Malcolm connected bowling with friendship. Ainsley didn’t think that she would want to be friends with anyone that actually liked bowling.

’’Bowling is _business_.’’ Martin’s voice dropped. He sounded like the Surgeon. Ainsley was taken aback by such a change. Malcolm, even more so it seemed. He blinked at his father.

’’So, you go bowling.’’ Ainsley wondered aloud why anyone would do this.

’’It’s a thing.’’ Martin went on the defensive.

’’Could we come and watch you do it?’’ Ainsley asked. There really wasn’t anything better to do.

’’You bowl?’’ Malcolm wasn’t having such an easy time accepting this side of their father. He envisioned him in bowling attire and thought that it would be an improvement to his Floridian garments.

’’Bowling isn’t that difficult to do.’’ Martin decided to go into a long monologue about bowling to tell them that not only was he a shut-in, but that the one social thing he did, he had to overanalyse.

’’Now I need to see it.’’

The only reason why Martin had brought up bowling in the first place was because there was a bowling competition going on. The winner could get two hundred dollars. It was students enter only.

’’Two hundred isn’t a lot, at all.’’ Ainsley deigned to have an opinion.

Martin looked at Ainsley. ’’I’m sorry, _rich-girl_ , but that kind of money could really help some people.’’

’’I didn’t mean to offend you.’’

’’It’s fine. But I’m paying for everything you’re doing and eating these couple of days and I’m not asking you to pay me back,’’ Martin did one of those passive aggressive shrugs Malcolm and Ainsley knew their dad by, ’’so the least you could do is pretend it’s a lot of money. Because right now, it’s two hundred dollars more than what you have.’’

Malcolm opened his mouth to shush his sister because she looked just about ready to verbally fight to the death. He didn’t know how to react to the potential-killer and already-killer of the family facing off.

’’We’d love to go and bowl with you. Is it a 4 man team?’’

’’Yes.’’ Martin smiled, ignoring Ainsley now.

The Surgeon was there. He just needed something to bring it out. It was a surreal experience.

* * *

  
Jessica Milton, now that she was definitely convinced that people who only liked one sex were missing out, found out about this competition via Business Heather.

’’It looks like fun.’’

’’Does it?’’ Jessica abhorred bowling. It was such a pedestrian sport. Nothing like her style.

’’Sure. We could sign up. Heather has a friend who’s a Physics major. She likes to bowl.’’

’’Is she also named Heather?’’

Business Heather sighed, very deeply.

Jessica couldn’t believe her life. ’’Shut up, you cow.’’

’’Yes, we call her Physics Heather.’’

Jessica clapped. ’’Oh my god, that is ridiculous. I love it.’’

* * *

  
The Bowling alley was... a bowling alley. Lights. Drama. A place where teens hooked up. Everything one needed to see in order to never take up bowling again. Or, at least, this was how Ainsley saw this entire fiasco her brother and father made her go to.

Malcolm and she really needed to figure out what to tell Martin. He was beginning to become frustrated with their avoiding answering his questions.

’’Let’s just tell him.’’

’’Ainsley, in WHAT time travel movie is it ever a good idea to just tell your young dad that you’re from the future?’’

’’Blond kid movie where he’s an inventor, but underappreciated in his time. You’ve seen it with me. It was our let’s watch it ironically until we fall in love with it movie.’’

’’The kid travels into the _future_ there. It’s a whole different thing than this.’’

’’Oh my god, fine. But where are we from?’’

’’Well, Florida is out.’’

’’Of course fucking Florida is out, Malcolm.’’ Ainsley scoffed. She dragged her brother to the desk where they could get their shoes. Bowling night was free tonight to enter, but the drinks weren’t and such. So, they didn’t have to bleed Martin for this, too.

Ainsley was just about to make a snide remark, as little sisters all knew how to do, when she spotted a sight that stole her breath away and knocked her into another dimension. She grabbed hold of her brother’s suit sleeve and began to furiously tug, while widening and squinting her eyes in dismay.

Malcolm finally looked where she was dragging him towards and hoarsely whispered: ’’No.’’ Because his voice was lost to the majestic, indescribably odd, and potentially scarring vision in front of them.

A young teenage boy was working at the desk and asking them for their shoe size. He had what Ainsley could only call the poorest, sorriest excuse of a moustache only struggling teenagers could grow. His hair, unlike his future self’s counterpart – wasn’t slicked back. Oh no. It was aimed in all, most haphazard of directions.

Ainsley had to leave. She couldn’t witness this.

’’GILLBERT, WHAT DO THESE PEOPLE WANT? DID YOU GET THEIR SHOES?’’

’’MR. SANCHEZ, IT’S _GILL_!’’

Malcolm had to remove himself from the environment post haste. He fled after his sister.

This excursion into the past would leave him with more mental scars than anything he’d ever endured in life. This he was sure of.

Ainsley was outside of the bowling alley, wheezing and crying in odd, hysteric intervals. Malcolm was quick to join her.

’’That was Gill?’’

’’I know!’’ Malcolm couldn’t believe that his father-figure looked like that. ’’I never saw any teen photos of him, you know. This was... wow, it threw me in for a loop.’’

’’Did I catch correctly, but I heard his boss call him Gillbert?’’

Malcolm nodded. ’’Ainsley, the 80s are a dark, twisted time.’’

Just in that moment an upbeat 80s classic began to play on speakers.

’’Truly we are living in the darkest of timelines.’’ Ainsley chuckled. She elbowed her brother, gently this time. It was to let him know that she cared about him.

’’I love you, Ains.’’ Malcolm said.

Ainsley nodded. ’’Love you, too – Mal.’’ And then because being emotionally open wasn’t something that Ainsley Whitly enjoyed, she switched the topic: ’’What do you think will happen if we got stuck here?’’

’’God, I hope not.’’

’’Right? I’d probably have to go into radio.’’

’’We don’t even exist in the past, Ainsley. Stop trying to build a life for us here. We gotta set up our parents and then try to track down that cult and tell them to take us back to the future.’’

’’You don’t think it’ll magically transport us back how it does in the movies? You think we’ll have to track them down.’’

’’I have to be open for all possibilities in order to properly do contingency planning.’’

This all sounded well and good on paper.

Ainsley gave Malcolm another day before all of this got to him and stressed him out until he burned up.

’’Do you think mom is gonna show up here?’’

’’I really don’t think that a Milton needs two hundred dollars-’’

In that moment, not far away from them, Ainsley and Malcolm heard a distinct voice: ’’LOOK AT ME, HEATHER, I’M SLUMMING IT IN A BOWLING ALLEY!’’

Jessica Milton had arrived.

* * *

  
Ainsley met Martin’s crew. They were all extremely interested in pursuing their medical careers after this fiasco of a bachelor degree got finished in peace and hopeful success. She wondered if Martin, her grown up dad, had kept in touch with any of them after college.

By Martin’s lack of involvement in their conversations he really didn’t look like gave a single fuck about them.

Same, Ainsley thought. She didn’t even think about her college friends. And then there was Malcolm, who still texted Vijay. Where was her brother? Ainsley turned around and saw him staring at Gill, Gill staring back, and Malcolm asking him about the weather (his panicked go to topic) and then listening about the weather. Honestly.

Jessica Milton and her BEP Heather squad (Business, English, and Physics) had come to just have fun and drink out of a flask. Ainsley wondered if maybe her parents would meet in a Bowling alley and hook up. It seemed like just the type of venue Jessica Milton would later lie to her kids about and tell them that she’d met their father in a park on a bench. Maybe she was onto something.

Martin was a good bowler.

Jessica, however, seemed to just be getting all strikes.

Ainsley really wondered if the universe had decided to pull a giant practical joke on the world by creating Jessica Milton. Soon to be, if Ainsley and Malcolm had anything to say about it, Jessica Whitly.

She mingled by the door when they opened. Ainsley turned, startled by the speed with which the doors had opened, and widened her eyes, once more, in sheer surprise.

Nicholas Endicott looked at Ainsley, decided he didn’t like what he saw, and turned to the sea of students mingling in the Bowling alley to find where Jessica Milton was. For him this encounter didn’t even begin.

For Ainsley it began with the look, but it wouldn’t end when she saw him leave for Jessica’s location. Her heart was beating in a hard, uncomfortable rhythm. Her legs were shaking and she could feel her lungs erupt in a searing, burning pain.

She could never forget the way he looked at her. Ainsley breathed in. She tried to, at least. Because she couldn’t. She couldn’t breathe. Her vision began to fog up. She owed it to herself and to Nicholas to forever remember how he looked like.

Ainsley closed her eyes and began to unbutton her dress shirt in a hazy, hasty mess of movements. Her fingers were shaky. She remembered him, she remembered him – not this practical child, but the monster, the man, the terrible human being that had nearly taken everything from her and her family.

Quickly she buried her head in her hands. The lights seemed to be too bright. The music was way too loud. Without deciding to, Ainsley pushed through the revolving door and breathed in the cool, night air.

Everything hurt. She wanted her meds. Ainsley rubbed her temple with one hand and held onto a pillar with her other. None of this was okay.

She was too out of it to register the door swivelling open again. She was too out of it to notice a very enchanting woman come up to her and ask if she was okay.

Ainsley only heard static. Her eyes watered. Her nails dug into her palms. If it hurt it was real, it was grounding.

’’Hey!’’ Jessica Milton jumped in front of Ainsley. Her vision focused, zeroing in on Jessica’s glowing sweater. Ainsley truly couldn’t understand this decade. ’’Are you okay? I saw you freak out.’’

’’I- I’m okay.’’ Ainsley swallowed down her worry and her fear. It was difficult, but her mother always said that difficult women like them two had to do difficult things. They didn’t have the luxury of enjoying life freely.

’’You really freaked out.’’ Jessica grimaced for exaggeration. ’’You aren’t high or anything?’’

’’No. No.’’ Ainsley both felt like her mother was asking her for drugs and telling her off for doing them. It felt like a regular mother-daughter interaction. ’’I’m just sad.’’

’’Fuck sadness.’’ Jessica raised her hands, causing her sleeves to slide down. ’’Sadness doesn’t help out anybody. Happiness is the only emotion women feel, haven’t you heard?’’ Her eyes were bloodshot. Ainsley noticed that her nose was doing odd things, too. Wow. Her mother really did have a problem.

’’Don’t you feel sad?’’ Ainsley asked.

There was nothing more like New York than two ’complete’ strangers chatting up about feelings outside of a bowling alley.

Jessica crossed her arms. ’’I do. But I don’t talk about it.’’

’’Why not?’’

’’Never found anyone who wanted to hear about it.’’ Jessica even stuck her tongue out. What a high brain was capable of, truly astounded Ainsley. ’’Could you imagine someone wanting to talk about feelings?’’

Ainsley, and this was the real kicker, **could** imagine a certain serial killer wanting to talk about feelings.

* * *

  
Martin’s team, and this was just not something any of them expected, managed to win.

How was this feat possible? It was easy to explain actually. Jessica had decided to quit and the Heathers couldn’t play as a three girl team. The other teams? The other teams, to put it lightly, were garbage.

’’Malcolm, I’ll buy you as many Doritos as you like!’’ Martin hugged Malcolm, who’d just stood nearby Martin when he bowled and was therefore called a lucky charm.

’’I’m going to name my son Malcolm!’’ Martin shouted.

Malcolm felt validated to know that he would continue to be called Malcolm in the future. Better than Gillbert. He closed his eyes and imagined Gill’s face when he told him he knew what his real name was.

It was going to be magnificent.

’’I have 50 dollars! Let’s go spend it _wisely_!’’ Martin Whitly knew how to hype a man up for anything, didn’t he?

’’Let’s go, woo!’’ Luckily for him, his son was a giant nerd.

Martin and Malcolm staggered out of the Bowling alley to look for Ainsley. They found her talking to Jessica. Martin’s heart began to beat in unmeasurable speed. He let go of Malcolm and actually managed to approach her without panicking.

She was alone. That was all the necessary variables he needed to get in order to say this next part: ’’Hey,’’

’’I’m busy talking with my friend here.’’ Jessica shot him down.

Martin apologized and wished her a good day. He snapped his fingers into finger guns and fired off a couple of sad bullets while retreating.

Ainsley, meanwhile, had befriended Jessica and gotten an invitation to come to a very exclusive business-major organized party. She asked if she could bring her friends.

Jessica sighed. ’’Fine. But _only_ because I feel sorry for you, okay?’’

Ainsley felt like she would never have this open of a communication with her mother than she did this exact moment. This was Jessica in her best, most raw form.


	6. The Finale

Martin Whitly was going to win Jessica Milton’s heart, even if it killed him. Even if he had to kill someone. Though, he really hoped he wouldn’t. His whole life would get mighty derailed.

The party that Jessica had invited them to was hurting his eyes. Which was saying something as he’d worn his most colourful attire.

Ainsley asked him if he had anything less ostentatious to wear.

’’Why?’’ Martin genuinely asked. ’’This is my brand.’’ He gestured his clothes.

Malcolm whispered: ’’Oh dude.’’

Martin would ignore this.

* * *

Jessica Mitlon was not only a goddess when one looked at her as a vision. No, she was, also, a goddess on the dance floor. Nothing could compare to the sight of her jamming out. Martin had to buy himself a drink to bolster his courage.

Nicholas Endicott – the fiend – attempted to get in between Jessica and the music, but Ainsley knocked him out of the way and danced with Jessica. They talked about an assortment of things, or so Martin speculated. He was too busy getting drunk to care.

Malcolm asked: ’’is this a rave?’’

’’Yes.’’ Martin nodded. He shouted: ’’Is this your first rave? This is my first rave!’’

’’Sure.’’ Malcolm exclaimed. ’’Let’s go with that.’’

* * *

Ainsley Whitly was going to have a bad time at this party. It should have been apparent to her when she had to elbow Nicholas Endicott out of the way. For a moment the memories flooded back, because he’d speared her with a horrified look – not the same horrified look he’d had upon bleeding to death, but it had to be similar. He looked at her in bafflement at Ainsley’s sheer audacity to elbow _him_.

But the crème de la crème had to be when Jessica offered her a mint. Ainsley, still reeling from her encounter with Nicholas (a kryptonite of sorts to her usually reason savvy self), decided to accept a mint. Only after she consumed said mint did she realise that it was not a mint that would leave her mouth minty fresh. Oh no. It was drugs.

Jessica Milton was a drug dealer.

Ainsley felt silly not to remember such a specific detail about her mother’s way of life.

The world around her began to, ever so slightly, distort.

Jessica howled.

Ainsley sought out a familiar face. People were turning into obscene creatures right in front of her eyes. This was not a wise decision at all. Ainsley wouldn’t beat herself up about it too much: it was the fucking 80s, after all.

She wound up running head first into Martin and latching onto him. Malcolm was roped into dancing with a couple of girls, apparently. Or so Martin tried to articulate. He was melting. Like the witch from that one cartoon whose name eluded Ainsley. She asked him if they could leave. The noises flashing around her, coupled with the lights blaring haphazardly were giving her a migraine and planting a deep rooted fear inside her chest that something terrible was going to happen.

Martin, who’d just been about drunk enough to go up to Jessica and ask her out, saw that Ainsley was in danger – not quite herself – and that she was asking him for help. He sighed in disappointment and led her outside. They sat down on the ground, neither of them minding much if their clothes got super dirty.

’’Did you take something?’’

Ainsley nodded, faintly aware of what she was being asked.

’’Was it acid?’’ Martin titled his head to get a better look at Ainsley. ’’You look like you took acid.’’

’’Jessica offered me a mint.’’

Martin laughed. ’’And you just took it? I’m sorry, but – everyone knows not to take Jessica Milton’s mints if they don’t want to get wrecked afterwards.’’

Ainsley was beginning to feel the hallucinations now. Martin’s body was distorting like a puppet made out of clay. She blinked and his hands were inhumanely long. Ainsley’s eyes must have been shot wide because Martin sighed and asked her if she wanted to go to the hospital. ’’I’ll take you. Come on.’’

He offered her a hand that was made out of barbed wire next. Ainsley refused to take it. With his other – non barb wired hand (but this one looked like it had very prominent green spots all over it) grabbed hold of her shoulder. ’’Come on, let’s go. You don’t have to suffer like this. I’m not a doctor I can’t take care of you.’’

’’You become one.’’ Martin was wearing the full surgical attire. Ainsley shuddered. ’’You become a cardiologist. A surgeon.’’

Martin’s eyes crinkled with glee behind the mask. ’’You kill people, too.’’ Ainsley saw her dad, next. He was younger than the surgeon she interviewed, but older than this student in front of her. ’’I mean, you kill twenty-three people.’’ And then, added, because Malcolm always added this: ’’That we’re aware of.’’

’’Acid is really something else.’’ Martin whispered to himself and helped Ainsley on their way towards a cab. He tried to get one to stop, but they were all busy or had a passenger already. ’’Ainsley, do you want to walk?’’

’’Sure.’’ Ainsley shrugged. This might just as well happen. She hoped her brother was having a better time at the rave party than she was. The street lights bended like silly straws. Martin allowed her to lean on him.

’’I think fresh air would do you good.’’ Martin said. He was, personally, freaking out a little bit. Because he was one of those people that always had to be in control about their wits and didn’t like to hang around people who weren’t about their wits specifically because they could be unpredictable. Martin liked plans. He liked things going as planned.

Ainsley had made everything go tits up.

’’You know we’re not from around here.’’ Ainsley was speaking airily. She looked around and blinked slowly, taking in her surroundings like they were a novelty to her – and not just buildings. ’’Malcolm and I. We’re from the future, you know. Martin,’’ Ainsley looked at Martin. She had an intense gaze about her. ’’You become a doctor.’’

’’When?’’ Martin laughed. ’’You’re very funny when you’re high, Ainsley.’’

’’After I was born. Somewhere in the 90s.’’

’’Sounds about right.’’ He tried getting another taxi, but this one honked at him and told him that he was done for the night. Fucker.

’’You get arrested in 1998, you know.’’

’’For what? Jaywalking? I feel like they’d get me for jaywalking. I don’t give a damn – if there’s no one around I will jaywalk.’’ Martin was trying to keep the conversation rolling. Ainsley laughed at him. He smiled. He liked making people laugh. It was one of his hidden talents.

’’No, no – for killing twenty-three people.’’

’’There you go again.’’ Martin sighed. ’’Really, what are you going to tell me next?’’

’’Malcolm and I are your kids. From the future.’’

Martin rolled his eyes. ’’Jesus Christ, it’s like straight out of a movie with you. Prove it, Ainsley, prove to me that you’re my daughter.’’

’’You gave me an ice tea recipe.’’

He perked up at hearing that. ’’Oh? The one my mother swore to me never to give to anyone other than my kids? Do go on. What is the Whitly secret ice tea recipe.’’ Martin expected Ainsley to fib, to show that she was just very creative when she was high –

Martin Whitly never expected for his time travelling daughter to actually prove she was who she said. As they were crossing the street they nearly got hit by a car, because Martin wasn’t watching where they were going. He was breathing heavily and shuddering and wondering. He summoned enough strength to ask: ’’It’s true. You’re really my kids?’’ Martin smiled. His dimples showed.

Ainsley nodded. ’’Yup.’’ She swayed, slightly, and he held onto her harder.

’’I do become a surgeon.’’ Martin’s main takeaway from everything Ainsley had told him was this. ’’I finish medical school!’’ Tears welled in his eyes. Said eyes sparkled with hope for the first time in forever.

’’That is not what I wanted you to latch onto.’’ Ainsley thought that if her dad heard he had killed twenty-three people (possibly more) he would change the course of fate and not go down that way. But he was only stuck with the knowledge that the horror of becoming a doctor would end, that he would succeed, that he would actually do it.

’’That’s why it’s really important you and Jessica get together. We stop existing. Malcolm and me, I mean.’’ Ainsley blinked. The cars lined in the streets were marshmallows. She blinked again. Now they were bumper carts.

’’Wait, wait!’’ Martin came back to the land of the living, not far away screaming about his medical career. ’’Jessica Milton?’’

’’Jessica Whitly.’’

Martin swooned. ’’Jessica _Whitly_.’’

’’She hates your guts. You ruin her life.’’ Ainsley wasn’t about to let Martin have it so easy. ’’You really ruin all of our lives.’’ She laughed. Ainsley always had a better way with words than any of her family members. She knew how to sting with them, how to lodge them into another person like a knife (oh god, Martin was shifting into Nicholas Endicott).

Ainsley shouted at the street: ’’IS THERE A SINGLE FUCKING TAXI?!’’

One stopped. ’’Where you going?’’

’’Hospital.’’ Martin said and ushered Ainsley inside.

He had a lot of things on his mind. But the two things that he kept repeating in his mind were these two:

  1. I become a doctor.
  2. I marry Jessica Milton.



The world was good.

* * *

Jessica grabbed onto Malcolm and danced with him until their feet bled with ecstasy and bad life choices. This Malcolm guy turned out to be really sweet. Probably gay, too, since he didn’t want anything she was trying to offer.

Next she offered him a mint. He declined. ’’No, thanks. I don’t do drugs that aren’t prescribed.’’

’’Ooh, I like a man with medical connections. ’’ Jessica laughed.

Malcolm couldn’t help but laugh along with her. She had that effect on men. They all laughed at her jokes and flattered her with empty words. Jessica had done this song and dance one too many times not to figure out when people were laughing out of pity or because of societal expectations. As a Milton, she had a sixth sense for these types of things.

’’Wanna go outside? I can’t hear anything you’re saying.’’ Malcolm shouted.

Jessica just heard the part where this handsome man wanted to take her outside. She smiled and told him to lead on.

Outside, she was not made out with as she expected – but was forced into having a decent conversation wherein she talked about ballet with this man. It turned out they had that in common. Jessica was a prima in her youth, but ever since going to college she decided to quit ballet. It didn’t fit her vibe anymore.

’’My mom signed me up for ballet. I really loved it as a kid.’’

’’You’re not into ballet anymore?’’ Jessica asked. It was a shame, she thought. ’’You have the physique for it.’’

Malcolm shrugged. ’’I don’t really have the time for it anymore.’’

’’Yeah.’’ Jessica nodded. She understood that. Next she dug into her small purse and asked Malcolm if he wanted something to keep the party going. ’’I’ve got lots of things.’’

’’I, uh, no – really.’’ He floundered. ’’I don’t want any of it.’’

Jessica sighed. ’’Fine, be that way. Some of us need this.’’ Then she lit a cigarette that was not a cigarette but something Malcolm was intimately aware of. Better than mints, that was for sure. He wondered what kind of high person Jessica was.

’’Why do you need it?’’

The humdrum of the rave party pierced their conversation and Jessica would be damned if she had to talk about feelings (yet again) with a stranger (yet again) in such close vicinity to animalistic glee. ’’Let’s go to a park or something. There’s one nearby here. I can’t be fucking bothered to listen to this. One more moment of this and I’ll gag myself with a spoon.’’

Once seated on a bench, Jessica decided that she might as well confess her sins to someone who both looked a little tipsy and generally anxious about the world they lived in. ’’I don’t like people telling me what to do.’’

’’Understandable.’’

’’Especially not when they’re righteous fucks about it, too. Like my parents are on a daily basis, you know.’’ Jessica took another drag of her joint. She offered one to Malcolm and he decided it would be rude not to get high with his mom. That was a sentence he never thought he would have thought about, too, but there he was – getting high with his college aged mom. The world was strange. He hoped Ainsley was having a good time.

* * *

’’AND THEN ANOTHER SERIAL KILLER WENT INTO OUR HOME TO MURDER US!’’

’’Jesus, Ainsley – all of this because I get a kick out of watching people die? I’m a fucking asshole, it seems.’’

’’YOU'RE THE BIGGEST FUCKING ASSHOLE IN THE HISTORY OF NEW YORK ASSHOLES!’’

’’Don’t lump me with the New Yorkers, I’m a Floridian and I’m proud of my heritage.’’

’’I didn’t know you were from Florida until we came back to the past! You don’t even mention your family, ever.’’

’’Oh thank god I man up enough to cut all ties with them.’’ Martin cheered himself on. ’’I love future me!’’

’’Yet again you’ve latched onto the thing you shouldn’t!’’

* * *

’’Just because you have all of these expectations on you doesn’t mean you’re a failure if you don’t meet them.’’ Malcolm taught Jessica. Ironically enough: ’’My mom told me that. She doesn’t really like expectations, either. She’s one of those live in the moment people. Ha. I’m starting to think she married our dad to spite all of those expectations.’’

’’Ugh. Your mom is a smart woman, Malcolm.’’ Jessica exhaled a round circle of smoke. She handed the joint over to him. He finished it off.

’’Thanks. I love her a lot. I don’t think I’d be here without her.’’

’’Momma’s boy, huh?’’ Jessica nudged him with her bony arm. Malcolm smiled.

’’Proudly so.’’

’’Awww.’’ Jessica hugged Malcolm then. Apparently she was touchy when high and wanted to drape herself across people. ’’If I ever become a mom I want a son that’s like you.’’

Malcolm didn’t know how to quite articulate what he wanted to say. ’’Your kids are gonna love you.’’

’’Shut up.’’ Jessica laughed. ’’Nobody would love me for me. Only this idea of me.’’ She raised her arms in the air and made an arch with them. ’’Everyone wants to fuck Jessica Milton, the idea, the goddess, the absolute party animal. Nobody wants to hear what I have to say.’’

’’What do you have to say?’’ Malcolm asked.

’’Really funny things.’’ Jessica defended herself. ’’I’m a drop dead gorgeous face, don’t get me wrong. But I have substance, damn it!’’

’’And a substance abuse problem.’’ Malcolm muttered. Jessica heard him and laughed, praising his sense of humour.

’’I like that. I might use that.’’

’’So, you like funny guys?’’

’’Guys aren’t funny, Malcolm.’’ Jessica groaned. ’’No offense to you, but most men just pretend to be funny to further their own goals.’’

’’What do you think about guys from Florida?’’ Malcolm was going to be damned if he didn’t do his hardest to hook his mother and father up.

’’I don’t trust anyone that smiles that much.’’

’’I mean, okay, fair.’’ Malcolm didn’t know what irked him about his father until Jessica explained it right this moment. ’’That is outlandish.’’

’’Nobody is that happy.’’

’’Maybe it’s all of the sun they’re getting?’’

’’I don’t know, but I don’t trust it.’’

* * *

Martin Whitly got his time traveller daughter to a hospital and said that he was going to hop out because he really didn’t feel anymore obligation to be there. ’’You’ll be okay, Ainsley!’’

’’The narcissistic psychopathy finally shines through.’’

’’I don’t care to spend any moment in the hospital more than I have to. If I see your brother I’ll tell him where you are.’’ Martin slicked back his hair and exclaimed: ’’Dr. Whitly is out! He’s about to go and page future Mrs. Whitly.’’

Ainsley thought that that had to be the worst thing she’d ever heard.

Her mother would love it.

* * *

Malcolm spotted Martin _striding_ towards Jessica and him. He looked like nothing could defeat him. It was just that level of confidence he saw in his older father. Malcolm really hoped that Martin hadn’t just killed a person while he’d left him unsupervised.

Martin asked Malcolm if he would be a dear pal and go to this specific hospital where his sister was nursing a bad trip.

Malcolm didn’t need to be told twice. He bolted.

And then, Martin snapped his fingers and greeted Jessica, who was finally, _finally_ alone: ’’May I sit down next to you.’’

And Jessica had nothing better going for her. She scooted slightly to the side to give him more room.

The sun would rise in an hour or so. Jessica never saw the sun rise in a park before. Usually the streets on her way back from an extravagant party – the kind she’d ditched. Martin looked up at the sky, as well – because he followed Jessica’s lead – he’d seen the sun rise multiple times whilst camping with his parents. It was a favourite pastime of his.

They sat together in silence. For Martin it was becoming unbearable. ’’Do you watch movies?’’

’’Oh, yeah. I like horror movies.’’ Jessica was high, therefore she had no filter. ’’And period movies, too.’’

’’Period movies? Like Pride and Prejudice?’’ Martin wracked his brain for possible period movies.

Jessica turned to Martin quickly and had a shit eating grin on her face. ’’You want to know what my favourite period movie is?’’ A terrible plan forged in her mind. A terrible joke weaved itself over her tongue. She knew just the thing to get this man out of her vicinity.

’’Sure!’’ He brightly answered, wearing an equally amused smile.

’’My favourite period movie,’’ Jessica leaned forward, her hot breath caressed his ears and he gave her a reaction by shuddering, grasping for a chance to hear her speak – and Jessica Milton would deliver, ’’is **_Carrie_**.’’

She didn’t wait to see the horror cross over his face before bursting into laughter. This had to be her best joke yet.

’’Didn’t know that was a movie.’’ Was his only reaction. Though he wore a smile, still. And it was fonder, somehow. ’’Want to hear what my favourite camping movie is?’’

Jessica wiped tears away from her eyes and gasped for breath. This had ruined her. Nicholas would have called her a freak already and she’d probably had to tell him not to have a cow – but this smiling man wasn’t so easily driven off. A _challenge_. Jessica’s eyes twinkled. ’’Why not. Enlighten me.’’

’’The Burning.’’

’’Ooh that one’s good!’’

’’Isn’t it just? I love it!’’

Jessica laughed at his forwardness, at his utter glee. ’’Name’s Jessica Milton.’’

’’Martin Whitly.’’

’’Oh, where are you from Martin?’’

’’Not far.’’ Martin didn’t want to say Florida. Their talk was going so well so far.

Jessica worried that the man she actually liked to talk to was from New Jersey. The horror in her eyes must have been great because Martin caved: ’’Florida. I’m from Florida.’’

’’Oh thank god.’’ Jessica whispered and placed a hand across her chest.

’’What’s your favourite chick flick?’’ Martin asked. He wanted to continue the game.

Jessica placed her arm on the back of the bench and leaned back, kicking her heels off. She didn’t mind spending her time here. Martin was amusing so far and not nearly as egotistical as Nicholas. ’’Birds.’’

’’Birds is a chick flick?’’ Martin wondered. He nodded his head to the side. ’’I guess I can see that.’’

’’Favourite ill movie.’’

’’What’s an ill movie?’’

’’There’s always a movie with one guy who’s really sick and it centers on that. Maybe there are flashbacks. Worried family members. My mother loves watching those.’’

’’Oooh. Yeah, yeah – those are boring.’’ Jessica nodded in thanks. This Martin understood her. ’’The only one that I’ve found that’s any good is the Exoricst.’’

’’Favourite coming of age story?’’ He asked her.

’’Frankenstein.’’

He snorted a laugh at that. ’’Some coming of age, all right.’’

Jessica playfully jabbed his leg with her foot. ’’Shut up.’’ She swayed and went to fall, but he grabbed a hold of her and pulled her up. He had dimples when he smiled. Jessica really liked dimples.

Martin was funny.

Jessica liked funny.

The sun began to rise in earnest. They spoke even after it, now only clearly being able to see how wrecked both of them were. He looked like he’d had someone throw up on him (a relative, he said, and she believed him) and she looked like she’d partied far too hard for her own comfort (she did, to be fair – perhaps she’d take a break and go into nature).

’’Nice beaches in Florida.’’ Jessica said.

’’Oh yeah, if you like I can take you there sometime.’’ Martin beamed. Jessica gave him a lopsided smile, clearly fond of his nature. He misinterpreted that, of course, and defensively said: ’’Well, I mean – I can give you directions and you can go with the Heathers.’’

’’Nah, I think I’m cramping their style.’’ Jessica fanned away. She slipped back into her heels and said: ’’I’d rather much go with someone who can show me around. Now, I’ll show you around town while you walk me home.’’ She phrased it like a command, but hoped he could hear the subtle flicker of a plea.

He did. Because he helped her up and told her that if she needed leaning on, he was there. ’’I’m getting quite good at this thing.’’ Martin laughed.

’’What thing?’’

’’Just leading women around New York. Goodness, this park is the best place to meet new people.’’ Martin’s brain was sleep deprived.

Jessica’s was hyped up still on mints that were being processed, liquor that had been ingested, and one joint. ’’Yeah, fuck – you could pick up lots of women from this park.’’

’’Jessica, you are the only one for me – ’’

’’Aww. That’s the sweetest way I’ve ever been asked on a date.’’

Martin wondered what kind of men Jessica had dated when being sensibly polite was too odd and new for her.

’’But I’m thinking, if you were a slasher – this is the place to pick up women in. Especially if they’re drunk like I am. Or vulnerable. Or injured. Perfect place.’’ Jessica pointed to the park.

Martin had to concede that. This park was perfect if you wanted to pick someone up to kill later. He liked that Jessica was the kind of gal who could be talked to about these sorts of things. ’’I didn’t know you were so morbid.’’ He purred.

Jessica didn’t hear the purr. ’’Well,’’ defensively, ’’I’m not just a pretty face.’’

’’No, no – I like it!’’’

’’You do?’’

’’Yeah!’’

’’Aaa, Florida boy, I like you, too. Where do you live in Florida?’’

’’Near Gatorland.’’

Jessica’s mouth fell open. ’’What the fuck is a gatorland?’’

’’You don’t know what gatorland is?!’’

’’No! I’m a New Yorker – enlighten me, gator boy!’’

Martin grabbed her hand and swung it about as he got in front of her and proclaimed: ’’Prepare to be enlightened on all things _gator_ , Jessica!’’

That was the cheesiest damn thing Jessica had ever heard in her life. She watched as Martin animatedly explained about the ancient history of alligators, moved his hands around to graphically paint her a picture about the insides of their jaws (as if Jessica didn’t know what a crocodile’s jaw looked like – apparently this was not the right thing to say because Martin then went on to explain the difference between an alligator and a crocodile all while Jessica watched in utter bemusement)

When he walked her over to her apartment he was still talking and Jessica grabbed him by his gaudy dress shirt, pulled him up so they were face to face, and then told him, quite bluntly: ’’I need to shut you up.’’ And then she kissed him. He crashed into the kiss, gently holding her hair and pulling her closer. It was unlike any kiss Jessica had ever had. Firstly, it was utterly terrible – secondly, he was adorable.

’’Pick me up tomorrow.’’

’’Eight?’’

’’Eight sounds amazing.’’

’’I need to be back in my dorm by ten, though, because I need to study anatomy for my final exam.’’

Thirdly, she was falling _hard_ for this gator boy.

Jessica Milton nodded.

And then wondered. Ever so briefly. What it would feel like to be called Jessica Whitly.

Martin waved, his face trapped in that moment of pure, inescapable joy getting kissed by your crush dealt you.

Jessica Whitly sounded _quite_ lovely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ainsley: So, they're together.   
> Malcolm: Yeah. We succeeded.   
> Ainsley, nods: True, true - but we're still in the 80s.   
> Malcolm: Wait... fuck.   
> Ainsley: Mhm.   
> Malcolm: Maybe it needs a couple of hours for the magic to take effect?
> 
> Years later.
> 
> Malcolm, PI: Don't you dare say it.   
> Ainsley, Radio Host: No, of course not. I'm over it. Our parents invited us over to brunch. Baby me is teething.
> 
> The fic's finished ! Leave a little comment to let the author know you liked it ~


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